The Secret life of François and Justine

The tip of the whip licked her back for what seemed an eternity. Razor lips tore the flesh from her in a perfect line down from her right shoulder to her left buttock. She screamed in pain, thrashing her arms and legs violently to free herself from her restraints, but she was locked in her upright position, her legs fastened to the floor and her hands tightly in chains that led to the right and left wall. Her tormentor knew he heard a faint pleasure in her scream, and he could smell it in her scent. Years and years of experience told him he could make her love this, make her beg for it through her tears, instead of rejecting it like now. He walked over to her and smelled her sweat closely, yes, such great potential lingered in her young body.1

She was the youngest one he had ever brought in to his private life like this, but he had desired her from the very first moment they had met. They met casually in the street, her eyes meeting his as they walked past each other. They both turned around to see the other walking out of their life at the same time, and they both decided that it'd have to be a sign of sorts. They both stopped in the buisy street, people walking past and between them all the time, just looking at each other for a few minutes, before they approached eachother and greeted.2

"Please, stop it" she cried out, turning her head around to look at him. Her eyes begged him sincerely, their tears almost convincing him to let her go. But only almost. He put down the whip, to which her response was relaxation and a sigh of relief. Her naked body just hung limp from the restraints, and he saw that she needed stiffening up.
"Oh, but you have yet to meet the cat" he said plainly to her. Her head was back in its natural position now, not looking at him, but he saw that she knew exactly what was coming next. The way her hands grabbed the chains and the way her buttocks clenched, he knew she was preparing for pain. He would indulge her, oh yes, he would bring her pain and more pain, until it felt like pleasure. He took the cat o'nine tails, the nine-tailed whip, from the floor. He held it up with his right hand, the tails resting on his naked shoulder. His left hand was extracted, holding the girls left shoulder. The cold leather of the whips nine tails exited him as they lay there on his shoulder, and he envied the girl who was about to recieve all the pleasure and pain this instrument was capable of giving. And then he swung, with all his might. The tails scratched him as they left his shoulder, and he could feel the pleasure of the impact as they hit the girl. Sweat and blood graced her back alongside pieces of skin, and he let his tongue slide across her to extract as much of it he could. The skin and sweat was deliceously salty, and her blood was hotter than it should be, and felt so good in his mouth.3

He had taken her for a cup of coffee that day they met, and they found they had a lot in common. They both liked the same kind of theatre and opera, and they decided to go see a play together.4

He had gone in front of her now, to better observe her emotions and facial expressions. She still found him physically attractive, his strong torso shining beautifully when sweaty, and his long black hair suiting him perfectly. But she had come to loathe the man she had fallen in love with. She regretted ever stopping there in the crowded street to greet him. She could see that he wasn't wearing anything but his pants, his almost erect penis showed all too well beneath it. But unlike merely days ago, it awoke no lust in her now, no desire. She could tell the same did not go for him, he still found her attractive, or at least her pain.5

After the play, one word of admiration from her side had quickly lead to a kiss, which in turn got them in bed shortly after. They never stopped to rest, but went on all night long. She thought she was in love then.6

Her nipples were erect, he observed. It was hard to tell whether it was because of the pain, sexual arousal or the cold air. He leaned over to her and licked her areola and nipples. He gently kissed them, before softly biting them without causing harm. She cried all along, fearing what he might do next. He started running his fingers through her hair, then removing the hair from her face, laying it behind her head, where it stuck because of the sweat and blood on her back. He loved what the blood did to colour her blonde hair.7

They both fell asleep early in the morning after their first night. She slept heavy, last nights pleasure playing over and over in her head. When she awoke, she was still naked, but now in the restraints she had become all too familiar with. At first she had thought her lover uncapable of doing such a thing, beeing sure she had been kidnapped by someone else. But then her heart broke as he walked down into the room where she was, apparently some sort of cellar, with a wide range of whips and other tools designed to inflict pain in his hands.8

"Please, don't do this... Just let me... let me go" she begged him, tears softening her body for him. She shivered in cold, but she could only feel the pain of her torn back and broken heart.
"But I can't Justine, I can't" he said, picking up a sharp large needle from the floor. The needle was larger than any she had ever seen, longer and wider.
"François, please..." she pleaded, hoping to reach his empathy.
"There is so much more pleasure to show you" he said exitedly, as he let the tip of the needle caress her body from her neck down to her vagina. He let her see how much he enjoyed it, playing with her like that. Then he sat the needle against her right shoulder, and pressed it until it pierced her skin. Blood slowly left the wound, but he kept pressing the needle slowly, until he suddenly pushed it with all of his might into her. The needle went straight through her shoulder, a large bloodstained part of it was clearly visible on the other side, even to her, yet the whole needle hadn't been inserted. She shrieked loudly, and he clearly took pleasure in it as he sucked blood from the wound, the spat it into his hands and rubbed himself in with it.9

At this point, she could keep her innocent mask no longer... she stopped crying, and started smiling. The change happened so fast that he was still in character when she asked for them to change places. It always happened that way, she got a little too much into it, and couldn't wait for the part where she was supposed to escape by force, and chain him up instead, making her horrible revenge. Instead, just the simple request; "Can we change places now?"10

Of course they would, they always did. He unlocked her chains, kissed her, and let her chain him up.